Drabbles: Emperor and Coward, Lion and Chihuahua
by gonosono
Summary: A series of akafuri drabbles gathering dust bunnies in my inventory. Ranges from domestic AUs to delinquent AUs with various things in between. Rated M to be safe.
1. In which Akashi wakes with a boner

**AN and Disclaimer: The akafuri fandom needs more love, and I really don't own KnB, otherwise there would be a lot more Akashi and Furihata interactions. **

**Also unbeta'd and not edited, so any grammatical errors or awkward semantics (or awkward writing in general) - sorry in advance!**

In which Akashi wakes with a boner and wants morning sex

Akashi sighed in contentment, burying his face into the sleeping brunette's shoulder and inhaling the sweet scent of Furihata's skin. He wrapped his arm firmly around the boy's waist, enjoying the feel of smooth and soft skin underneath, a surge of sudden lust rushing to his nethers. Groaning slightly, Furihata shifted, his back rubbing against Akashi's chest. Akashi's breath hitched as Furihata turned toward him, his sleeping face adorably disturbed by dreams.

Akashi opened his mouth, wanting to wake Furihata, but the small whimper and sigh emitting from Furihata's lips were too much. The heterochromatic teen sat up, his erection causing a bulge in the sheets, and face flushed. Akashi couldn't find the heart to wake Furihata up, but his dilemma was ...rather large.

The lack of another body's warmth caused Furihata to wake, his eyes blearily blinking open. Akashi looked down at him, his hand automatically going to ruffle the soft hair, the other hand covering his massive erection.

"A-Akashi?" Furihata murmured, rubbing his eyes cutely like a child. Akashi privately felt the urge to reconfirm his existence; his boyfriend was too cute to be true.

"Kouki." Akashi propped himself back on the bed, chin in hand, his voice dropping to a low and husky tone barely veiling the desire he felt. His eyes were hooded.

The ever perceptive Furihata blinked twice, this time more awake, his eyes growing large and wide and he realized what Akashi wanted. Akashi, amused, watched him as the brown eyes darted downwards, growing even larger when Furihata saw the unmistakeable bulge in the sheets. The red flush on Furihata's face was very becoming, Akashi thought, and leaned forward to kiss him.

"Nngh..." Furihata's skin was hot against his hands, his mouth moist and tongue slick. Underneath Akashi, Furihata struggled to get away.

"Sei-Seijuuro!" Furihata whined, pushing Akashi away and instinctively snatching up the bed covers around him. "It's too early in the morning."

Akashi, irritated, glared at him. "So?"

To his credit, Furihata didn't flinch, Akashi noted a bit sadly. He rather liked the little jumps and squeaks of terror, punctuated with occasional flares of defiance.

"I have school later today," Furihata was explaining, "and basketball practice."

Akashi narrowed his eyes at the mention of basketball. "Practice with me instead."

Furihata looked at him, exasperated. Akashi coolly stared back, unhappy with the turn of events. Furihata sat up, the sheets sliding off his hickey riddened torso. "We don't have enough time." He muttered and then yelped as Akashi grabbed his arm and pulled him into a tight and crushing embrace.

"I have a car and a chaffeur." Akashi said, kissing the back of Furihata's neck and biting it. A shiver wracked Furihata's body, pleasantly quivering against Akashi's. His erection felt rather painful, and he nudged it at Furihata's backside.

Furihata blushed. "B-But," He started, only to be silenced by an eager and hungry kiss. Slightly breathless, Furihata gave in after Akashi pulled away and looked at him with an uncharacteristic pleading. Akashi never pleaded. Furihata decided that he could stand to be late to school for once. "Alright," Furihata conceded, but stopped Akashi just as the other was about to place another bruising kiss, "but we're using condoms."

Akashi looked displeased, but quickly complied. He descended, his mouth hot against Furihata's, his hands expertly tweaking his nipples and sliding down to Furihata's hips, rubbing them in an arousing manner.

Just as Akashi pressed himself against Furihata's entrance, Furihata remembered something very important. With a single rough thrust, Akashi slid in with difficulty, causing Furihata to cry out in pain.

"L-Lube! We forgot to-I need to prepare-ahh..._oh god_!" Furihata's distressed voice shifted to sharp moans of pain and pleasure as Akashi began to move. Akashi responded with more power, and Furihata was starting to regret his decision.

Needless to say, Furihata had trouble sitting down or walking all day, and after making a hasty excuse to a highly displeased coach, he limped back home, cursing Akashi all the way.


	2. Furihata's schedule changes everything

**AN and disclaimer: possible OOC on Akashi's part, but sometimes I just see Akashi as a really demanding boyfriend. And again, don't own KnB.**

In which Rakuzan's basketball practice revolves around Furihata's

"What do you mean you have basketball practice?" Akashi demanded, his red-cased phone about to snap under the pressure. "You said there was no basketball practice today."

Mibuchi thought he sounded rather like a petulant child, but quickly shook off those thoughts lest he accidentally said it aloud and the improbability of the idea. He and his other teammates waited patiently for Akashi to finish the phone call, each dreading the resulting outcome which would hardly do any good for Akashi's temper.

A rapid stream of words from the other end lessened the harsh grip on the phone, and Akashi grudgingly conceded with an angry flash in his eyes. "Fine." His voice was clipped. "Expect me around seven, then. And we'll be doing _triples_." Snapping his phone to a terrified squeak, Akashi glared at his teammates, who were all pointedly not looking at him.

Eikichi, more fearless and perhaps more stupid than the rest of his team, asked awkwardly, "So, uh, do we still have practice?" He shrank back when Akashi directed the killing beam at him.

"Yes." Akashi said, anger controlled and stewing. "We do. We'll be doing tripled the training menu." With that, he stormed away to the locker room, leaving the other four to exchange silent glances.

The four Rakuzan basketball players couldn't help but fear for Akashi's little boyfriend, even though they were a bit irritated at the fact that Akashi scheduled their practices in accordance to Furihata's schedule.


	3. Delinquent Furihata

**AN: Beware of Delinquent!Furihata and OOCness. I really like the idea though: that Furihata isn't as cowardly as he seems. I sorta picture him like Jacuzzi from Baccano. **

**Delinquent AU, set in pre-Seirin days (Akashi's eyes are still red)**

Summer nights were almost as worse as winter nights. The summer air was sticky and humid, buzzing with mosquitos and moths, and although it wasn't as bitterly cold and numbing as the winter air, a bit of breeze would have done wonders. Sweating and bored, Furihata fanned himself idly with his shirt, slouching against a less cool metal frame door. His buddies squatted, batting away mosquitos and smoking, their expressions slack and as bored as Furihata felt.

"Hey, Furi." One of them said finally, taking a long drag from his cigarette and blowing out the smoke in a smooth dark gray cloud. "What's the time?"

Furihata shrugged, his shoulders itching terribly against the sweat-soaked shirt. He lifted his steel baseball bat and rested it on his face, sighing in disappointment at the lack of coolness. He wondered what the time was too, but at this moment, the heat was lethargy-conducing and Furihata couldn't be bothered to move.

"Man, it's hot. Why couldn't we've done this sometime later? I'm sweatin' like a pig." Another guy complained, scratching at his bald head. There were pock marks and faint scars on his head, and they wrinkled with the pressure. Furihata stared at the scars, momentarily fascinated, and then looked away into the street. A group of lanky men wearing ripped jeans and shirts, carrying pipes and twirling knives loomed in the distance, illuminated briefly underneath the dim yellow streetlights. A mosquito buzzed next to Furihata's ear, but he ignored it, opting to grin cheerfully instead.

"Don't worry, Ono." Furihata said, voice trembling. His hands were shaking with their usual nervousness, and his stomach began to do flip flops, but his eyes were bright in the sultry gloom. His buddies perked up at his unease, slowly rising with their bats and knives. Furihata walked hesitantly forward, feeling the jitters wrack his body as the adrenaline slowly began to seep into his blood. He gave his friends an overly cheerful grin. Some of them still looked vaguely disturbed at his expression, but most of the others had gotten used to it, or so it seemed. Furihata looked at the twenty odd people piled behind, all tall and looming with intimidating scars and musculature. His head buzzed with a strange calm, and his lids lowered. His teeth gleamed as his lips stretched wider as the approaching gang drew closer.

"Let's try and keep cool, guys. Don't want to burn our buddies, neh?" Furihata cracked his neck and swung the bat experimentally, his finger tips skimming lightly across the surface, electrified.

As the nearest scraggly scowl loomed into Furihata's face, he suddenly came to life, arm snapping, bat swishing through the air, eerily high-pitched. _CRACK_.

The fight lasted less than ten minutes this time. Furihata stood above the bloodied leader, who had sank to his knees, coughing up blood. His fists clenched over the ground, and the mohawked gangster yelped with pain as Furihata decisively ground his foot over his head. "I-I surrender!" He sobbed pathetically.

"Don't go messing 'round my turf no more, loser." Furihata hissed, applying some pressure, enough to hear something crack faintly.

"Yes, yes, yes." The man whimpered, and Furihata lifted his foot, satisfied.

"Now scram." Furihata watched as the gangster scramble to get away along with the rest of his cronies.

"That was fucking refreshing!" One of his buddies crowed, and then mimed the expression of the beaten deliquent. "Let's do that again, Furi!"

Furihata gave him a shy smile. "You think so? Then we'll have to expand our turf."

His buddies - no, followers - laughed in delight at the prospect of more fighting.

Furihata turned away, face going blank. The delightful tingling had faded, and reality was quickly crashing back, crashing down, down, down...

Furihata choked against the bruising hold, kicking vainly at the larger man's knees. Putrid breath laughed into his face, a rough and mocking voice echoing distantly, ringing inconsistently in Furihata's head. He banged his head forward, catching the man's nose. Instantly taking advantage of the temporary opening, Furihata struck the man in the groin, mercilessly pummeling the sorry bits of manhood and punching the goddamn laughter out of the tattooed man. He lifted a pipe and smashed it down over his head for good measure when the man failed to get back up. Breathing hard through his nose, Furihata tossed aside the metal pipe and limped out of the alley, wiping away the blood from his nose with a thumb. His head was dizzy, something wet was pouring down his temple, and his vision blurred. Gasping, Furihata collasped against the side of the street, underneath a flickering street light. He closed his eyes, ignoring the vile smell coming from his shirt, having rolled in some animal feces during the scuffle. Sweat and blood dripped from his face and down into his shirt, feeling sticky and gross.

The street was empty, and Furihata only had moths to accompany him in the dark and cool night. His breath was chilly, his skin prickly and scabbed from scars and the cold. The heat rush from the fight was fading again, leaving him empty...

A car pulled up in front of him, a sleek black thing, no doubt expensive. Blinking, Furihata stared, wondering why it had stopped. The car window rolled down from the back passenger's seat, and a pale face stared at him, assessing and coolly observing the mess Furihata was.

Furihata met the cool stare with a bored one. He didn't care - this boy didn't know him, he was in empty mode, reality hasn't crashed back into him yet. "What do you want." He stated flatly, a bit hoarsely due to the earlier chokehold.

Dark eyes, appearing red in the yellow light, blinked curiously at him. The car window was rolled back up, and Furihata heard voices inside, a deep male one and a higher-pitched but still male-sounding one with an air of command. The door opened a minute later as Furihata tugged off the sweat and shit stained shirt that rubbed uncomfortably against a fresh wound on his back.

"Come." The strange boy said to him softly, commandingly. His hand was stretched out to Furihata. "Let me help you."

Furihata stared at the hand incomprehensibly. _Why are you offering me help? You don't even know me, know what I did-go AWAY!_ Furihata turned his head away, scoffing. "Go away. I don't need help, not from the likes of _you_." _Not from you, a pampered prince, a snob of society._

The boy's face tightened, the corner of his mouth twitching downward and his brows furrowing. He didn't extract his hand, however, and scooted forward, getting out of the car. Leaving the door open, the strange boy knelt in front of Furihata, catching a whiff of the foul scent with a wrinkle of the nose. "Please. You're bleeding a lot." The boy said, gently, coaxing. Soft red eyes met Furihata's dulled brown ones. "Let me help you." He repeated, still offering his hand.

Furihata wanted to yell at the stupid boy to leave him, wanted to laugh at the kid's audacity, wanted to...wanted this help, wanted to... he was tired. Letting out a tired laugh, he grasped the boy's hand, marveling at the unexpected callouses and roughness in the otherwise smooth and unblemished hand. "Fine." Furihata let himself be dragged into the car, smelling leather and luxury and money. The door closed after him, and Furihata leaned against the window, faintly self conscious of his bare chest and the blood trickling from his wounds. He didn't say anything, and neither did the boy and his driver. When they stopped in front of a high and expensive looking building, Furihata's eyes widened. It was amazing. He'd seen it from afar, from the school roofs and from the highway. Up close, the Akashi Manors were much more impressive, the lights bright and sparkling in the night.

As the chaffeur opened the door for Akashi, Furihata followed, mumbling a faint apology about the blood. The chaffeur gave him a startled look, as if he was expecting anything polite from the boy, and Furihata's heart sank a bit more, a jaded feeling washing over him as he thought about appearances and society and rules and reality.

A gentle hand took his and led him into the building, firmly holding onto his, not letting him go. Furihata stood awkwardly next to the boy, who, now that they were standing, was the same height as Furihata. They stood in silence in the elevator, listening to the smooth whirring of the quality machinery before a bell-like ding signaled their stop on the top most floor.

"Over here." The boy murmured, punching in a stream of numbers too quickly for Furihata to catch. He tugged Furihata inside, taking off his shoes neatly. Furihata stooped down, wincing slightly as the back wound tore a bit more. He managed to take his shoes off, and placed his bare feet on the polished wooden floor, marveling at the smoothness.

"Please sit." Gesturing toward the living room sofa, a charcoal black, strictly modern in style with its sharp and defined rectangular conformation and sudden smooth curves in the resting arms, the boy walked into a hallway, his feet padding gently, almost noiselessly against the muted floorboards.

Furihata settled himself gingerly on the sofa, trying not to get blood over the dark silky material. He looked around, amazed by the expensively tasteful yet simple decorations. A large flat screen T.V. hung from the wall, stylized wall lamps illuminating the vast space. Large ceiling to floor windows covered the expanse of the living room. Several plants in large pots, all real and glowing green, Furihata noticed, sat in various corners, and some modern paintings hung in near precision on the walls in a row. But no photos, nothing of family, nothing of the boy decorated the living rooms.

A soft rustle alerted Furihata. Turning around, startled, Furihata watched as the boy set down his armful of medical supplies and first aid boxes down on the ground. The boy sorted out the bandages and opened a bottle of water, dabbing it onto a white towel. Watching the boy, feeling more mixed and confused as the time dragged on, Furihata couldn't help but burst out, "Why are you helping me?"

The boy looked up, and in the better light, Furihata noticed, for the first time, how pretty he was. A small smile quirked his lips and the doll-like boy, who looked younger than Furihata, spoke with an air of amusement. "Because you looked like you need help. Now are you going to stare at me while you bleed or can I start cleaning your wounds?"

Flushing, Furihata lowered his head and turned around, vulnerable and hesitant. The wet towel stung, but Furihata bit his lip from crying out. "S-So," He said, a faint tremor in his voice. "Do you do this often?"

"Pardon?" The pressure on Furihata's back lessened.

"This." Furihata gestured at his back and at himself. "Helping wounded delinquents."

Unexpected laughter responded to Furihata. "You're a delinquent? I never would've guessed."

"Is that supposed to be sarcasm?" Furihata asked, irritated. "How am I not a delinquent? I have scars to show, you know."

"Aren't you a bit too young to be a delinquent?" The boy asked teasingly. "You look like an elementary schooler."

"I'm not." Furihata huffed, ears burning. "I'm in middle school, and I really am a delinquent. I lead a gang!"

"What? A gang of middle school, deliquent wannabes?" The boy said, raising a dark red brow skeptically.

"No." Furihata faced forward, his bangs falling forward. He refused to say anything more, and felt the silence settle into his skin. The boy finished disinfecting his back and taped on several bandages.

"My name is Akashi Seijuuro." The boy offered after some silence.

"Furihata Kouki." Furihata stated flatly. "Thanks." He added awkwardly.

"No problem." Akashi said. He stood up, carrying a dirtied and bloodied towel. "Please stay still. I still need to bandage your head."

"Sure." Furihata watched Akashi retreat back into the hallways, wondering what ulterior motives the boy might have in patching him up. People, Furihata knew from long experience, rarely did things out of the kindness of their hearts. There was always something, a catch. Furihata wondered what the boy could possibly want. A favor? From a delinquent? The boy didn't even believe that Furihata was a delinquent, much less a gang leader of a slowly growing but successful gang in the Southern District.

Akashi came back with a fresh towel and bandages. He knelt before Furihata, gently wiping away the blood from his head, face, neck, and collarbone. "How did you get this many wounds?" Akashi asked quietly and cautiously, as if afraid he would set Furihata off.

"Fight." Furihata answered shortly. Seeing the trepidation and growing curiousity in Akashi's face, he decided that since the boy was already taking care of his wounds and they were unlikely to meet again in the future, Furihata decided to come clean. "I was fighting against a man. He was part of a rival gang, thought that he could one-up the leader of the Jikotsu, and infiltrated the gang."

"Was?" Akashi interjected sharply, pausing in his dabs. Furihata shrugged but didn't say anything more. "What happened after that?" Akashi asked after some pause, changing the subject.

Furihata's shoulders relax and he closed his eyes as Akashi began to scrape off flecks of dried blood from his brow. "The asshole was caught but escaped, and I went after him. And we fought."

"You fought against a grown man?" Akashi asked, doubtful. "You're only in middle school."

Furihata opened one eye, mirthful. A small giggle burst, unnerving the other boy. "Yeah," Furihata said, almost dreamily. "I'm stuff from legends. Karate kid and all that jazz." He didn't miss Akashi's eyeroll and grinned instead. "I'm stronger than I look."

"I'm sure you are." Akashi deadpanned, moving the towel to gently trace the groove of Furihata's jaw, earning a shiver from the shirtless boy.

"I am!" Furihata protested, opening both his eyes, a light rusty brown color. Akashi shook his head in disbelief, lowering the towel. "Sure." He repeated skeptically, but a hint of smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay, fine." Furihata said, crossing his arms. "Believe whatever you want, but the fact is, I took down a grown man, got hurt, and now you're cleaning up my battle trophies."

"I guess I can believe you." Akashi conceded, and then actually grinned. "But just this once."

"Hmph." Furihata uncrossed his arms and let Akashi wipe away the blood from his neck and shoulders. The heat of Akashi's hands on Furihata's skin was pleasant and warming. Soon, he was done, and Furihata was no longer bleeding and significantly less filthy. He stood up, feeling his sore leg muscles creak in protest. Wobbling, he almost fell down, but Akashi caught him instinctively.

"Sorry 'bout that." Furihata mumbled, embarrassed at his weakness.

"No matter. Why don't you stay over?" Akashi offered, setting Furihata down on the sofa. "I have an extra pair of pajamas and a shirt."

Furihata blinked at him in suspicion. "Why would you want a stranger staying over at your house?" He asked after some contemplation.

"You're not as dangerous as you make yourself seem, Furihata-san." Akashi smirked at him, eyes gleaming. Furihata's flight instincts flared up and he stared at the other indiscernibly. "And you're interesting. I like interesting people." Akashi added lightly. He pulled Furihata up before he could protest. "You really need a shower and a shirt. I can give you that."

Furihata was taken unceremoniously into the shower, quickly stripped of his ragged jeans and boxers, protesting the entire time, and then shoved, not roughly, into the shower. He yelped as the cold water hit him, and then blushed furiously when Akashi stepped into the shower, also naked, turning the water onto warm.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" Furihata shrieked, trying vainly to cover himself.

Akashi looked at him as if he were stupid. "To wash your back, duh."

"B-b-but you're naked!" Furihata gasped as Akashi forced him to sit down and began to peel off the bandages from his back.

"Why would I wear my clothes in the shower?" Akashi began to scrub gently. "And I get to shower too. Two birds, one stone."

Furihata gave up protesting after Akashi glared at him when he opened his mouth once more. He let Akashi wash his back and his hair, more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life.

When Akashi moved to wash other regions, Furihata yelped and grabbed the sponge from his hands. "I-I can d-do that myself!" Ignoring the infuriating but pleasant laughter from the other boy, Furihata quickly scrubbed and rinsed himself, face burning. He stumbled out of the shower, wrapped a towel around himself and then shyly asked, "Do you want me to scrub your back?"

"No need." Akashi peered at him from the shower door, amused. "I thought you didn't want to see me naked."

Furihata spluttered. "Wha-I don't!" He shouted at the shower door, his ears full of the sound of running water and mirthful laughter. Flustered, Furihata dried his hair and sat outside the bathroom, waiting for Akashi to be done. The shower stopped, and the door slid open. Akashi looked down, his hair dripping wet, still amused. Furihata crossed his arms defensively, and then gasped as Akashi slapped his bandages onto his back suddenly.

"What was that for?!" Furihata's towel slipped off, and he quickly wrapped it back around his waist, flushing and completely losing his composure. Akashi's smirk was almost unbearable, and it took all Furihata had to not turn around and punch his savior's face with all his might.

Akashi tossed Furihata a pair of red silken pajamas. "Here. These might fit you. I've grown out of them since elementary school, but it looks like it'll fit you."

Furihata caught the jibe but angrily pulled it on. "I'm not that young." He mumbled.

"Hmmm? Did you say something?" Akashi teased, sing-song.

"Nothing." Furihata said tersely. "Nothing about your height, of course."

Red eyes flashed and a truly evil smile crossed Akashi's face, almost causing Furihata to squeak in fear and alarm. "What's wrong with my height?"

"Uh...you're as tall as me?" Furihata replied nervously, cursing his stupid mouth for running off. "That's..." He struggled for something positive, "Good?"

The evil look went away and Furihata sighed. Okay, nothing about Akashi's height. That's fine. Furihata wanted to live.

They settled into Akashi's western style bed, Furihata curled on one side, facing away from Akashi and wondering why he wasn't allowed to sleep on the floor.

"Furihata-san." Akashi whispered to him in the dark, tugging at his sleeve. Furihata turned, and Akashi scooted a bit closer. "May I call you Kouki?"

Furihata shrugged as best as he could in the bed. Not many people called him by his first name. "Sure. But only if I could call you Sei-_chan_."

Slender fingers wrapped around Furihata's wrist and squeezed tightly, bruisingly in warning. "Try calling me that and you'll find yourself dangling from the roof."

"Sei-kun?" Furihata tried. The grip tightened and actually started to hurt. Furihata winced but refused to back down. "Akashi-hime?"

"Call me that and I'll castrate you." Akashi hissed. Furihata grinned. This was fun. Painful, but fun.

"Darling?" Furihata asked jokingly. Akashi tugged at his wrist, and Furihata feared that it might come off. "Okay, okay - I get it, no cutesy nicknames!"

"Glad that you finally understand, given your thick skull, _Kou-chan_." Akashi said scathingly.

Furihata frowned. "Okay, that's not fair. And having a thick skull is actually pretty convenient, for fights and stuff."

Akashi was quiet for a while. And then he spoke, his voice soft. "You really weren't lying when you said you were in a gang."

"Nope. I hate lying." Furihata replied, closing his eyes. Akashi smiled at him bitterly, sadly.

"Guess we have more in common than I thought."

"Yeah?" Furihata yawned. "'m sleepy." He murmured.

"Good night, Kou-chan."

Furihata didn't reply for a while, and Akashi thought he had quickly fallen asleep, but after a while of listening to soft breathing, a quiet voice replied, "'Night, Sei-kun."

Akashi didn't react, just laid there, blinking in the dark and feeling oddly warm. His hand was still gripping Furihata's wrist, and he made no move to take it away. Instead, his eyelids grew heavy and slid over his eyes, guiding him into the realm of peaceful dreams and sleep.

Furihata listened as Akashi's breathing grew longer and deeper. His wrist ached, but for some imperceptible reason, he let it sit there. The entire night had been incredibly odd, something that he would never imagine to happen to him. But, Furihata realized with a rather happy grin, he didn't really mind this. Not really.

He closed his eyes, his ears and senses full of the boy sleeping next to him.

The next morning, Furihata woke up, nose full of a fresh and scented head of red hair. Blinking blearily in the morning light rays, he tried to recall his surroundings. A quick and more awakening glance of horror at the unfamiliar and towering bookcases that bordered the otherwise neat and almost impersonal room, save for one basketball poster tacked behind the door, Furihata realized, as he was trying to sit up, Akashi had entangled his legs with his. Feeling incredibly awkward, he managed to extricate his legs from the other's, gently prying off the loose hold around his waist. He got up silently, taking care not to wake the other. Standing and stretching, Furihata felt that he had one of the best rests in his life. No shouting or screaming matches between his parents in the night or the morning, and best of all, no miserable sister to screech at him about laundry. Furihata quietly changed into his clothes, pulling off the nice pajamas and tugging on the ragged jeans. He paused, and then glancing at the still sleeping Akashi, hesitantly went through Akashi's closet and found a rather old T-shirt, ripped and frayed at the sleeves. He held it up, wondering why Akashi would keep such an old shirt in a closet full of nice and new clothes. Sentimental value? Furihata carefully folded it and put it back and chose a plain and somewhat ugly T-shirt. It was newer, still somewhat used, but it wasn't falling apart like the last one and this shirt had a musty smell, as if it was forgotten, unlike the tattered shirt, which still showed signs of being constant use. Furihata pulled on the olive green shirt and set his neatly folded pajamas into Akashi's laundry basket.

He left Akashi a note and departed, stepping out of the penthouse apartment, still marveling at the grandeur.

Outside, he walked the entire way home, enjoying the fresh air and the early morning light.

Back in the room, Akashi woke just as Furihata was crossing a street. A faint dent in the bed sheets, still somewhat warm, reminded Akashi of the boy from last night, so defiant and different and jaded that made the otherwise plain boy interesting.

Akashi sat up, running a hand through his hair, looking for any signs of Furihata Kouki. He got up, looked around. A piece of white paper caught his attention. He picked it up from his desk and read the surprisingly neat handwriting.

_Thanks for the bandages, letting me spend the night, and for the shirt, which by the way, I took the olive green one - I hope that's okay. I almost took the old red shirt, but I think you wouldn't be so happy if I took that one. By the way, you should get the shirt mended. It's coming apart. Although I'm sure you have enough resources to fix the shirt, I'm pretty handy with a needle. Just call me if you want me to mend it. My number is XXX-XXXX. _

_Thanks again. _

_Furihata Kouki_

A large grin unwittingly spread on Akashi's face. He picked up his phone and dialed the number, going to his closet to pick up the old red shirt that indeed, as Furihata had impressively guessed, was important to him.

The phone rang three times before Furihata picked up, his voice pleasant and warm to Akashi's ear. "_Hello?_"

"This is Akashi." He said, grinning into the receiver, feeling giddy. "And I need my shirt mended."


	4. Breakup, Stalking, and New loves

**AN: I generally don't like OCs in fanfic verse, but I wanted to challenge myself a little bit. Again, I don't own KnB, hence the OOCness and yaoiness. **

**Also, thank you Freir and Sya for your support! **

**A short oneshot (aka drabble) on this prompt: Akashi breaks up with Furihata to be with Kuroko, and ten years later, they meet each other again, but with different lives. **

Furihata peeked from his book, pretending to be part of the background of bystanders. He was certainly ordinary enough, not standing out but not completely invisible either. His soft brown eyes followed a pair of high schoolers, one with the invisibility talent and the other, wearing a different school uniform, looking as if he owned the world through heterochromatic eyes. The latter leaned towards the shorter boy, taking his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness. Furihata stiffened, held the book close to his face, stabs of jealousy and something akin to hate stewing.

Akashi was smiling happily, brilliantly, directing it toward Kuroko. Furihata could watch enviously, bitterly thinking, _you didn't smile at me like that,_ and _why him, why are you so happy to be with him_. He followed them discretely to movie, watched with narrow eyes as they kissed, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings and assuming that the dark movie theater would obscure their intimacy.

What was the point, Furihata thought as he hid behind a game machine at the arcade. Akashi was happy with Kuroko, much happier than when he was with Furihata. He couldn't watch anymore-he left, trying to think good thoughts, trying to get rid of the ugly emotions. It was very difficult. He was too occupied with his thoughts to notice where he was going.

"Hey! Watch where you're-!" The offended stranger he bumped to stopped shouting as Furihata looked up startled, tears in his eyes. The stranger stared at him as if entranced. "Are you alright?" He asks, tone unusually soft, his eyes kind.

Furihata couldn't say anything, but without waiting for his answer, the black-haired stranger gave him a stunning smile and pulled him into a cafe, ordering Furihata a sweet drink and coaxing Furihata's problems out of him.

While Furihata poured out the tragic affair between him and Akashi, he learned that the stranger's name, Takahashi Yuuto, the stranger's occupation, an entrepeneur business man with a small growing business, and his vast cat item collection. By the time they finished their coffee, Furihata was laughing, feeling light and happy since a long time. He barely noticed Kuroko and Akashi enter the same coffee shop, didn't even see Akashi do a double take, a strange expression crossing his face, and then leaving as quickly as they arrived.

Furihata added Takahashi-no, "Call me Yuuto, Furihata-kun"- _Yuuto's_ number to his phone, thanked him for the coffee and left. As Furihata waited at the bus station, he received two texts, one from Takahashi and one from Akashi.

He deleted Akashi's text without even glancing at it and read Takahashi's, grinning the whole time. They made plans for another meeting, and Furihata went to bed, falling into a dreamless sleep for once since his breakup.

Akashi disappeared from the back of his mind like a fleeting wind. Furihata woke the next day, a new man. He didn't care anymore. He didn't need to care. The change was startling, and although Kuroko gave him uneasy glances, Furihata smiled at him reassuringly, soothing Kuroko's anxiety.

"I've moved on," He said when asked, and closed off the subject as he engaged Kuroko in conversation about the library committee.

The scars on his body and heart healed by the time he graduated high school, and he didn't see any of his old high school classmates or basketball teammates for a very long time until the ten year reunion. By then, he was living in Spain with Takahashi Yuuto, married with plans for adoption.

He went to the reunion with his husband, exclaiming at the changes in his various friends, laughing at their stories, and greeting their respective partners and/or children. And then Akashi arrived, accompanied by the rest of the Kiseki no Sedai, who brought their families and/or boyfriends along. Akashi, Furihata noticed with a sudden pang of sadness, was alone. Their eyes met, and Furihata murmured to his husband, "I'm going to greet a friend." His husband saw Akashi, eyes narrowing, and then nodded. Furihata smiled and then walked toward Akashi, who stared at him and then at Takahashi.

"Hi." Furihata said, smiling softly. Akashi had grown slightly taller, but Furihata had grew taller than him. Akashi blinked, and then slowly replied, "Hello."

"How are you?" Furihata asked, all nervousness from his high school life gone.

Akashi studied him, marveling at how much people could change over the years. Furihata, although his features were still plain, now had a sharp edge of ruthlessness. Gone was the whimpering coward who had pined so pitifully (and yet endearing, Akashi recalled, old flares of affection surging up). A confident and mature man stood in front of him, tall and lean, years of happiness beginning to mark his eyes. Akashi let his eyes drink up the vision before him, and then offered a small smile. "Well. And you?"

Furihata's shoulders relaxed, and a carefree and brilliant smile caused Akashi to blink in surprise. It was a becoming smile, Akashi thought, listening to Furihata's exploits and life in Spain.

The man that had stood so close to Furihata a few minutes before Furihata left joined them, a sleekly handsome and solemn man, from outward appearances.

"This is my husband," Furihata was saying, gesturing. Akashi's eyes widened as he finally noticed the wedding band on his left ring finger, matching the other man's. "Takahashi Yuuto, this is Akashi Seijuuro."

Takahashi held out his hand, a polite smile gracing his broadly handsome features. "Nice to meet you. I've heard of you, of course. Koukkun told me all about you, and the Kiseki no Sedai."

Akashi shook the hand, noting the subtle warning squeeze at the end and Takahashi's posture, all which screamed possessiveness and wariness.

To his surprise, Furihata turned around and punched his husband in the gut. "Don't call me Koukkun in public!" He scowled, red tinting his face. "And stop trying to scare Akashi-san! It doesn't work on him anyway, and you'll probably end up getting scared."

"S-Sorry! But Koukkun," Takahashi pouted. "I can't call you anything else other than, 'Honey' or 'Darling,' but you told me not to do that."

Furihata rolled his eyes, but his reddened cheeks (so familiar and rather endearing, Akashi thought with slight bitterness) showed his pleasure. "Don't mind him, Akashi-san. He's always like this."

Akashi smiled, sad. "I'm glad that you are doing so well." He said honestly. He truly meant it. The past was the past, and nothing could change it. The world wasn't a simple matter of winning or losing, Akashi had learned the hard way too late, and in the end, with all his declarations of absolution and obedience and rising above the rest, he had lost the things that mattered the most.

Furihata and Takahashi left him after a few more exchanges of conversation to greet Kuroko, who was still as invisible as ever, particularly since he married Momoi, who seemed to glow constantly with happiness.

Akashi watched his old friends, old teammates, old rivals and acquaintances, and his old lovers with their spouses with a mixed feeling of regret, sadness, and contentment. He slipped out just as Midorima got drunk and began to dance with his lucky item, accompanied to Takao's shouts of laughter.

With loss came enlightenment and strength, and as Akashi walked to his car alone, he looked up at the vast dark sky, twinkling with light. Life wasn't something to be won or lost but something that was made enjoyable with experiences, love, and happiness. His breath glowed white under the winter moon, and he opened his car, turned on the engine, and drove away.


	5. Art

**AN: Furihata is a pretty versatile character because his status as a minor side character only gives us a tiny outlook on his personality and character, but nothing about his hobbies, family status, life experience. For all we know, Furihata's cowardliness could have been stemmed from childhood trauma, or how his family is structured, or - it's all a front and he's actually a mastermind (like Mikado in Durarara!). I love writing him with different abilities. **

**Again, disclaimer: no own KnB. Does own several large posters though.**

**AU Furihata is really good at drawing**

Other than joining the literary club and the library committee, Furihata headed off to basketball practice after stashing his art supplies away in his locker. Taking out some hand wipes, he scrubbed at his charcoal stained fingers, nose wrinkling at the smell of alcohol. It made his hands dry, but it wouldn't do, playing basketball and smearing charcoal all over it. His hands paused as he thought his latest sketch, a basketball shooting towards the basket and the shooter, sweat glistening in the stadium lights and eyes alight with confidence and absolute certainty. He smiled a little, recalling the Winter cup match last year. Although why the image of Akashi shooting a three pointer was firmly engraved in his mind eluded Furihata, he couldn't get it out of his head. From the bench, kneading his tired legs, he had seen the look in Akashi's eyes change as victory became uncertain and then brighten as certainty was regained.

Furihata threw the dirtied hand wipes away, closing his locker and leaving for basketball practice. At practice, all he could think about was the way the ball swished back and forth, and watching Kuroko and Kagami play gave him chills. He really wanted practice to end so he could sketch it all down.

"Furihata! Stop dreaming and get the ball!" His coach shouted at him. Furihata jumped, the inspiration fading as quickly as it had came, and he ran to obey.

"Man, practice was hell today." Kawahara said, mopping his forehead with a towel. They were in the locker room, and Furihata, tired and worn out, agreed. But he still wanted to draw. Calling good byes and see yous to his friends and teammates, he left.

The summer sun was still lingering in the sky although it was six o'clock. Furihata jogged to a small park, sat down and opened his sketchbook. The park was mostly empty, considering that it was dinnertime and most people were more interested in going home and eating. That meant quiet and peace. Taking out his sketchbook, Furihata flipped through pencil sketches, finally finding a blank page. With his mechanical pencil, he began to sketch rapidly the image that was nearly fading from his mind.

A few minutes later, the foundation of two people passing a basketball to each other was finished, and Furihata began to work in the details. He was so absorbed in his work that he barely noticed anyone else. By the time he finished, the sun was setting and the street lights were beginning to flicker on.

He stared at his work, biting his lip as he scanned it for mistakes. He spotted one: bending over the sketchpad, he fixed the lines outlining the basketball. Circles were difficult to get right, Furihata thought as he shaded and applied small and quick strokes to the basketball. He eyed it again, frowning. It still didn't really look right to him. He bent down to fix it again, but just before the pencil touched the paper, a smooth tenor voice spoke into Furihata's ear. "It looks perfect to me."

Furihata jumped up, startled. His head swung back, accidentally hitting the person behind him.

"Owwww...Oh my god I am so sorry-are you alright? I didn't mean to hit you! I mean, I didn't know you were behind me-uhhhhhhhhh...A-Akashi-san?!" Furihata squeaked out, eyes wide and startled. The red-headed point guard rubbed his forehead ruefully, and Furihata resisted the urge to run away. It would be inpolite to do so, he thought, but then getting killed and maimed is worse.

To his surprise, Akashi didn't attack him, merely reached out and took the sketchbook from Furihata's hands. "Apology accepted. You should be more aware next time." He said coolly.

Furihata stared at him with wide eyes as Akashi flipped through the pages. The amazing heterochromatic eyes (eyes that Furihata could never really capture correctly) blinked in surprise as they scanned each picture. Furihata felt like his artwork were in the hands of a critic, and nervously sat waiting for Akashi to finish.

Akashi paused at a page, and then looked at Furihata searchingly. Furihata bit his lip, wondering what was wrong. Face slightly pinker (perhaps from the sunset, Furihata thought), Akashi turned back to the picture. "This," His voice was slightly strained. Akashi cleared his throat. "I will keep this picture." He said, tearing out the sketch from Furihata's book with great care.

Furihata opened his mouth in protest, but seeing the enraptured gaze of admiration on Akashi's face made him feel rather warm inside. He grinned, proud of himself for actually doing something that warranted the admiration of someone who was nearly unreachable. "I accept requests." Furihata said happily.

"Really?" Akashi tore his gaze away from the picture to stare at Furihata with a faint sparkle of hope.

"Yes. Anything you like, for free." Furihata said enthusiastically. "It also helps me, you know, doing requests. Sort of like a challenge."

Akashi carefully slipped the picture into his bag. He was quiet and then looked Furihata straight in the eyes, causing Furihata to flush and avert his eyes subtly. "A picture of you then."

"E-Eh?" Furihata didn't expect that. "Are you sure?" He asked, somewhat anxiously. He hated drawing himself. He never drew himself if he could help it-he was too plain and boring.

Red and gold eyes narrowed. "Of course. Why would I ask you then, if I was not sure?" His tone was steely. Furihata inwardly winced, but he did offer...

"Alright. When do you want this picture?" He asked, wishing he didn't offer in the first place.

"Tomorrow. I'll be here tomorrow, at this time." Akashi said, smiling slightly. Furihata looked up, saw the smile, and his breath caught. The sky behind Akashi was streaked with a gentle ruby red, mixing with irridescent yellows and blue, lighting Akashi's eyes with a glorious sheen and his face with sloping shadows. Furihata put his hand to his eyes as in disbelief. He blinked, and then the beautiful image faded as the Rakuzan captain turned his back to Furihata and left, his shadow slanted across the weed strewn sidewalk.

His eyes felt hot, and his chest burned for no particular reason at all. He had seen beauty and perfection, and now he was struck with the desire to capture as much as he could in that one moment.

As he packed his sketchbook back into his bag, noticing that the picture that he had drawn of Akashi was missing, he wondered what Akashi was doing in Tokyo in the first place.

_Isn't his school in Kyoto?_

Texting Kuroko, who most likely knew more about this than anyone else, Furihata spent an entire night trying to sketch himself. Kuroko replied sometime later, stating that he did not know why Akashi was in Tokyo, and Furihata gave up trying to figure it out.

Every sketch turned out to be crappy, and finally, Furihata was too tired to care anymore. Staring at the dark bags under his eyes, he quickly sketched himself, shading harshly and tracing the angles of his plain face with pressure. He closed the book, grabbed his pillow with charcoal stained hands and fell asleep, feeling vaguely guilty for the charcoal smears his mother would have to wash.

The next day, he waited in nervous apprehension for Akashi to show up. Several hours passed, and Furihata thought Akashi wouldn't show up at all. Finally, just as the sun began to set, he heard running steps, quick and hurried. The Rakuzan captain stopped in front Furihata, breathless and disheveled, a small grin on his lips.

Shocked that even Akashi could lose his composure, Furihata sat mutely, his sketchbook in his hands.

"I apologize for my tardiness." Akashi said, his features smoothing out and resuming its normal cool. He didn't ask how long Furihata waited, but Furihata knew that Akashi knew how long he waited.

Furihata shook his head. "It's alright." He didn't miss the slight twist in Akashi's face as he said it. _Three hours._ _I waited three hours for you_. He held out the sketchbook, and Akashi took it. Sitting resolutely, Furihata knew that Akashi would be disappointed. His picture-his self portrait- was awful. It was his worst sketch, he knew. His face didn't look right, his eyes were misaligned and his nose was snubby and small in his wide face.

Focusing on a stray thread on his bag, Furihata waited for Akashi to say something. Silence reigned for a long time, long enough for Furihata to know that something was wrong. He looked up, about to apologize for botching up Akashi's request so badly. His words stuck in his throat as he saw Akashi's face.

He didn't know what it meant, the emotions swirling through the broken mask. Gorgeous, stained glass eyes were suddenly too close, framed with dark red lashes, long and pretty, just like the rest of Akashi. Furihata's pulse quickened, his breath came short, the breath of someone else teasing the blood into his mouth. He looked up, eyes sweeping the straight and regal nose, the sculpted cheekbones, and then straight into burning ruby and gold supernovas. He couldn't breathe.

Less than a second, Akashi pressed their mouths together, his hands slipping down to Furihata's waist, hard and relentless in their grip. Furihata froze for a moment, mind electrified, lips tingling, whole body numb and warm and relaxed and tense simultaneously. Then his hands involuntarily tangled themselves into red hair, feeling the soft locks of hair slip between his fingers sensuously.

His mind was swirling, lost in a giant whirlpool of emotions. Akashi was doing something his tongue, and Furihata let himself open up, letting Akashi take over, playing him-shaping him-over and over again like putty.

Finally, they broke apart, Furihata struggling to breathe and Akashi panting, eyes hot with desire. It was too much, and Furihata opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, and Akashi's eyes were suddenly large and bright and then the sunset dimmed, Akashi's face faded from view, and Furihata fainted.

When he came to, he was still at the park, his head cushioned on something hard but definitely not a bench. Furihata stared straight up, meeting a bowed head with glittering heterochromatic eyes. A small smirk played on the others' face. "Nice nap?" Akashi drawled, his fingers playing with Furihata's mousy brown hair.

He couldn't move, and the breath was suddenly gone again. "Relax, Kouki." Akashi said gently, the smirk fading from his face. Furihata complied, eyes closing again and trying very hard not to think about what happened. His cheeks reddened as he unbiddenly recalled the kiss and his fainting spell.

"I-I'm sorry." Was what he blurted out, eyes opening again.

Akashi looked at him uncomprehendingly. "For what?"

"For fainting." Furihata said, slowly sitting up, but tugged back down onto Akashi's lap with a firm jerk of the head. He looked Akashi straight in the eyes and blushed, trying to look elsewhere. "And for...for the really crappy picture. And for k-k-kissing you." He finished, stuttering and embarrassed.

Suddenly dark eyes narrowed at him and Furihata resisted the urge to squeak in terror. "Kouki," Akashi began (first name basis, Furihata thought, why?), "I accept your apology for fainting, but I think there is nothing to be forgived for the picture and the kissing."

An ice pit sunk into Furihata's stomach as he heard that, and he put a hand over his head, face burning and mortified. A gentle hand removed it, warm fingers cradling his face, wordlessly commanding Furihata to look at Akashi. Amused eyes, tinted with affection, gazed down at him, beautiful even in the streetlight. "If you want to pay me back, then pay with your body."

"What?!" Furihata sat up this time, brushing away Akashi's hands. His whole face was burning, an incredulous look shot at Akashi. "You can't do that! I-I'm still a virgin!"

A soft, heart-stirring chuckle bubbled from Akashi, turning into a full blown laughter. "I didn't mean that, Kouki." Akashi said, smiling broadly, and then his eyes hooded. "Although that is interesting to know... have you ever dated?"

Caught off guard, Furihata replied with a sudden wary, "...No."

"That means I'll be your first." Akashi breathed, suddenly near Furihata again. Furihata could feel the soft puffs tingle on his face. "Yes?" Heated eyes seared into Furihata, who couldn't think anything but, _yes yes yes yes yes_.

But what came out was, "You can't do that." Furihata slapped his hands to his mouth in horror.

Akashi's chuckle was less light hearted, dark but pleased. "Yes I can. My words are absolute." He leaned forward, gaze predatory, and smothered Furihata's squeaks with fervent kisses.

Akashi kept Furihata's pictures framed in his room. They were all gorgeous, beautifully drawn, detailed, capturing the emotions in every moment with perfect candidacy. Although Furihata had given him a lot of pictures, all beautiful, Akashi loved the one Furihata considered the worst out of the bunch the most. Picking up Furihata's self-portrait, he smiled, glad that he had decided to swing by Tokyo to visit Kuroko.

He set it back down, his phone ringing with Furihata's ring tone. The picture sat, clean and pristine, on Akashi's night stand.

A black and gray shaded picture of a boy, who at first appeared plain, with a second glance interesting, and a third and careful study beautiful, stared out from the frame with honest and lively eyes.

_The love of his life._


	6. The unexpected

**AN: I'm so so so tired. This month has never seemed longer, and next month can only be worse. Sleeping for more than 4 hours sounds beautiful right now DX**

**But thanks to everyone who left their thoughts; they were incredibly sweet and kind! I want to thank all of you more, and I had planned to with this drabble - but I don't feel that it's quite up to par with the others, and the characterization and the ending -ugh I'm just not going to talk about it. It's been a tough month. **

**Again, thanks! And I will be writing a sequel to the delinquent AU in chapter 3 and maybe the OCxFuri in Chapter 4. I'm not sure. I can't stop thinking about zombies. Probably because I feel like one hahahaha**

**Enjoy! (maybe)**

Akashi Seijuuro prided himself for many things: his intelligence, his appearance, his long standing record of attaining victory (with the exception of that one basketball game no one ever speaks about, not unless they wanted a pair of scissors in their eyes), and most of all, his ability to discover the latent abilities of other people.

First, it was Kuroko, with his near invisible presence and outstandingly, and admirable, determination to support his teammates in the most surprising ways possible. Akashi still considered that a major accomplishment and a victory, no matter what happened at that-basketball-game-no-one-speaks-of.

Second, it was the rest of the Kiseki no Sedai, however indirectly. Kuroko's presence in their Teikou games were invaluable in developing the latent abilities of the Miragen, and Akashi had employed it cleverly and strategically. Even if Murasakibara rebelled later on, refusing to take orders...well. Akashi had put him in his place afterward, even if he went through a brief, if not nearly unexistent, period of mental crisis.

Third, Mayuzumi Chihiro, no matter what happened in that-game-that-no-one-speaks-of, was also another one of his accomplishments. Akashi was intrigued in finding someone of higher caliber basketball skills than Kuroko, but also had a similar kind of presence and intelligence. The only down side was the arrogance that the third year displayed, and Akashi admitted to himself, days after Mayuzumi turned in his resignation letter, that he could have handled the situation a bit better.

Nevertheless, Akashi was proud of being able to find the brilliance in people who appeared however unlikely of ever having such brilliance, or any kind of special abilities period.

And it was on the hope of discovering talent that Akashi decided to date the surprisingly forward Furihata Kouki from Seirin. The boy had mediocre basketball skills, and Akashi had barely noticed him on the court, but apparently the boy was smitten with him to reasons Akashi was still uncertain about. But Akashi, after Kuroko, after Chihiro, after all his years at Teikou, was certain that Furihata Kouki also had something special that was yet to be discovered. He was expecting some sort of latent skill, possibly outside of basketball but still useful and rewarding, like drawing, or swimming.

After three months of observation, Akashi could only, and somewhat disappointingly, conclude that Furihata was decidedly normal but quite tactful and a very enthusiastic kisser.

Then summer arrived, and Furihata began behaving very strangely. Perhaps it was because of the overbearing heat, or the scorching sun, but Furihata was starting to avoid Akashi. Excuses about basketball practice, training camp, and uncharacteristically stubborn refusals to a trip to the Carribean were quite understandable, as the latter required a passport which Furihata didn't have. But Furihata had stopped responding to all of his text messages and rejected all dates in Kyoto or Tokyo.

At first they were apologetic little things: _I really want to see you too but I have a lot of homework to do. Sorry! Another time? _and _I'm visiting my parents in Hokkaido this weekend. Maybe I'll see you next week?_ until Furihata sent this: _I don't think we can meet up anytime this month or next month. Maybe during September, or sometime cooler?_

The last text had sent Akashi on a week's worth of rage and frustration. Mibuchi Reo had tried to approach him about it but received a scorching glare in return, and even Kotaro and Eikichi had stopped their usual antics during practice, unusually timid and subdued. Toward the end of that week, the coach had pulled him aside after practice, eyeing him with concern. "You're scaring everyone." He had said, and Akashi couldn't help but retort, "When are they _not_ afraid of me?"

Coach Shirogane looked at him solemnly and did not reply. Instead, he handed Akashi a note, saying firmly, "Starting Monday, you will visit the school counselor in place of attending basketball practice. God knows you don't need anymore practice, plus the first years will stop crying. Until you get your issues settled, I don't want to see you on the court." With that, he left Akashi in the empty gym, clenching onto a white referral form.

On Monday he walked into the counselor's office with a stiffly polite smile, and after five minutes, crying could be heard. Ten minutes later, Akashi walked out with a large smirk and an excuse in his hand. Handing the tearstained note to the perplexed coach, Akashi strode onto the court with a deceptively calm expression. The first years trembled in their expensive basketball shoes and the third year members just sighed and glumly exchanged looks.

It was Kuroko's phone call that dispelled the inevitable, his usual calm voice belied by a reprimanding and slightly scolding intonation. "Akashi," Kuroko said, "stop terrorizing your team."

Akashi wondered how Kuroko could possibly know anything about the going-ons of Rakuzan's basketball team until he remembered Reo and Hyuuga had exchanged numbers in a grudging truce and attempt to make peace, on Hyuuga's side, after that game-that-should-never-be-mentioned. "What I do here is none of your business, Tetsuya."

"Perhaps not, but you should know that bringing your personal life into basketball isn't good. And rather than running away from the issue, shouldn't you find out what's going on with Furihata-kun? He hasn't come to basketball practice for a while now. Apparently he's ill."

After delivering the punch, Kuroko hung up abruptly, Kagami's voice grating in the background.

Akashi was quite certain he didn't just suddenly scare his boyfriend off, thinking about all the times that they've made out (which was quite a lot), and the cute things that Furihata would do for him, like wearing cat ears and blushing from head to toe in a scandalous maid outfit. In retrospect, not many people would agree to donning the latter atire, but Akashi had asked and Furihata had agreed, trembling delightfully with large eyes that darted back and forth from Akashi's face and the pair of scissors casually pointing at him.

Furihata... Akashi buried his face in his arms and thought about last year's basketball game that no one had dared to speak about. He thought about losing, about uncertainties, and wondered if Furihata wasn't as smitten with him as he thought. Memories of his blushing boyfriend teased flutters in his heart. Maybe... Akashi wondered. A thought struck him hard, and his chest felt icy cold.

With a sudden ripple of shock, Akashi shot up from his desk in the middle of class and rushed out, fumbling with his phone and demanding to be taken to Tokyo, to Furihata's small apartment.

His chaffeur pulled up with a perplexed expression but smartly kept his mouth shut. Akashi slid onto the seat and leaned against the window, the cool glass pleasant against his heated skin, and pondered about love.

Like a madman, Akashi hammered on Furihata's apartment door, the hinges creaking dangerously. No one answered. Mouth dry and hoping the worst didn't happen whilst cursing himself for being so stupid and self-centered, Akashi stepped back and rushed forward, kicking down the door.

Uncaring about the damage, Akashi dashed into Furihata's room, eyes wild. "Kouki!" He shouted. The room was empty. Furihata's bed was neatly made and his possessions in their normal positions, tidy and clean.

"Akashi-kun?" Furihata's timid voice was music to his ears, and Akashi turned around, suddenly relieved. But the sight of his boyfriend caused him to freeze in his tracks.

Furihata's skin was a deathly pale and light grayish palor. Blue veins stuck out in the near translucent skin, and usually bright and vivacious eyes were dull and almost dead. Akashi tried to speak, but his voice stuck as the smell of antiseptics hit his olfactory. His hands shook as he tried not to think of how much Furihata looked like he was dying. Mouth dry, Akashi cleared his throat, a burning sensation tearing behind his eyes. "A-are you..." Akashi croaked out, unable to continue. He covered his face with his hands and tried again, breathing out deeply.

Furihata appeared bemused through Akashi's slowly blurring vision, and then alarmed as hot liquid splashed down onto the scrubbed wood floor.

"Akashi!" Furihata rushed forward, his hands cold and hard against Akashi's face. Dull brown eyes peered at him in concern. "What's wrong?"

Akashi blinked rapidly, wiping the tears away. "You're dying." He said shakily.

Furihata stared at him in confusion. And then he laughed. Akashi stared at him in disbelief, feeling wronged. He demanded, "Why are you laughing? This isn't funny! You need to go to the hospital, now!"

Furihata stopped, grinning broadly and looking more like himself since Akashi had seen him. "I'm sorry! You had such a serious face."

Akashi glared at him, irritation flaring. Why was Furihata treating this like it was nothing? And why hadn't Furihata said anything about his condition? Did he not trust Akashi? Nails dug into his clenched fist.

"I'm sorry." Furihata said again, this time gentle, a soft smile on his face. "I should've told you beforehand. I also should've told you this before we started dating, but I didn't know how to say it, and well," He wrung his hands nervously, bangs covering his eyes. "I guess I was too afraid to say anything."

"Tell me." Akashi said imperatively. "I want to know. I _need _to know."

Brown eyes glanced up at him, hesitant. "O-only if you promise not to tell anyone else. And-and that you won't treat me any differently."

Akashi nodded, bracing himself for the expected news, albeit a bit shaky. "I promise."

Smiling in relief, Furihata led him to the bed and sat next to him, hands fiddling with his shirt. "Um." He coughed slightly in embarrassment. "Well. Uh, how to say this...?" He glanced to the side, biting his lip.

Akashi sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, expecting the worst.

"I'm a zombie?"

Akashi slid to the floor with a thump.


End file.
